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‘Noel Edmonds seemed to radiate calm': how a gameshow changed my life

In early 2010, I was on the brink of bankruptcy and living in a friend’s flat in Clevedon, near Bristol. I’d been made redundant from my job as a journalist; I was temping and working in a pizza restaurant. I’d maxed out my credit cards, and when I called the bank asking to extend my overdraft, I was refused. I came off the phone and broke down in tears. I even sold my prized record and CD collection. I was depressed and broke. Then I hit on the idea of applying to Deal Or No Deal.

I filled in the application form online, telling my story as well as I could: my Serbian background; my love of culture; and my despair at not being able to provide for my 13-year-old daughter, Daisy. A few weeks later, I got a letter inviting me to audition.

The winnings got me out of a financial black hole

I was incredibly nervous, but immersed myself in the various games and pieces to camera, and tried to chat confidently with the other applicants. At the end, they split us into two groups. “Well, at least I gave it a shot,” I thought. I wasn’t hopeful, but mine was the group that went on the show.

We were put up in a hotel in Bristol for two weeks, filming three or four shows a day. Even though only one person plays the game each episode, future contestants feature in the background, standing behind those famous sealed red boxes, each with a number from one to 22 on the front, containing a sum of money from 1p to £250,000. It was relentless, but a real buzz. Day after day, I watched my new friends from the wings, as they won anything from 1p to £30,000. I bonded with the other contestants, did a bit of Serbian folk dancing for the studio audience, and dressed as an Arthurian knight for that week’s medieval-themed shows. Then, after spending 15 shows in the wings, my name flashed up: it was my turn.

Backstage, I was shaking. I told the production crew I felt too nervous to go on. Noel Edmonds appeared, put his arm around me, and said I’d be fine; he seemed to radiate calm. As soon as I stepped into the spotlight, I felt my anxiety lift.

After losing out on some of the big money boxes (£50,000, £75,000 and £100,000), I started to think how deflated I’d feel if, after all this effort, I came away with nothing. Eventually, the Banker made me an offer to walk away with £12,500 and I took a calculated risk, saying “No deal”. As the end of the game loomed, with the £250,000 still in play, the Banker rang again and offered me £20,000. I thought briefly about turning it down and ploughing on, but it was too risky. Noel asked me the famous question, and I replied: “Deal.” Waves of relief washed over me. “For Daisy!” shouted Noel, and the tears (happy ones, this time) flowed. I’d done the right thing: Noel revealed my own box had only £100 in it.

The winnings got me out of my financial black hole. I could finally treat Daisy, pay off debts, buy a few records – and still pay the bills. Nearly 10 years on, as a freelance writer, money’s still tight – but nowhere near as bad as it was. Daisy is now in her early 20s and financially independent.

I often think about what a powerful and emotional experience it was, a defining moment. It gave me back my confidence, and taught me that, sometimes, you need to take yourself out of your comfort zone.

How many other people’s lives have been changed by a gameshow? Here are just a few. VI

I met the love of my life: Alex McMillan, 25, Belfast

My grandad watched Mastermind and Bullseye, and my dad was a huge fan of The Weakest Link, to an almost religious level. I learned his trait of blurting out an answer: if you were right you could be really smug about it; if you were wrong, you could brush it off as if it was nothing.

I loved the idea of people appearing on TV just for the sake of showing that they know things. I used to love learning interesting facts. I was never particularly athletic, so it was nice to be good at something.

I was probably 10 or 11 when I first got a question that my dad didn’t. It was the £1m question on Who Wants To Be a Millionaire?, about which planet had a satellite called Oberon. He took a guess, and even though I had no reason to be, I was confident that the answer was C. My dad looked bewildered that I knew it – I didn’t, but he thought I did. I thought, “So, people are impressed when you know things that are of no consequence.” I’ve been trying to impress people with facts ever since.

I thought we were quids in, as we had several science people on the team

I started watching Only Connect a year before my dad died. It’s a lateral-thinking show: you’re given a series of clues with a common theme that isn’t necessarily obvious, and you have to either state the connection or give the next one in a sequence. My dad watched it with me, but never really followed it. I was 16 when he passed away from liver failure, and I found a lot of comfort in the show. So two years later, as soon as I turned 18, I started trying to get on gameshows; I’d have turned them all down to be on Only Connect.

I started a computer games degree at Queen’s University in 2013, and none of the societies really called out to me. When the student council gave me clearance to start a quiz society, I got excited. But nobody showed up to the first few events. At the first, I was left with three uneaten pizzas.

In my third year, I made a full set of Only Connect-style test questions; I knew there had to be at least two other people who wanted to be on the show. I did a social media callout, and sat in the student union with my poxy little laptop plugged into a monitor. No one arrived for a little while, and then Laura walked in. She wasn’t sure if it was the right room because I was the only person there, and asked if I was “the Only Connect guy”. She seemed very enthused.

She liked me, but I was oblivious to it. I should have realised when she applied to be on Fifteen To One, because she wanted to do something good for the quiz society, meaning me. She was deathly stressed about it.

The first time we applied to Only Connect we were rejected quickly; the second time we were rejected after a long time, which hurt more. Laura wrote me a card of condolence, because I was more cut up about it than I should have been.

But we did manage to get on to Tenable. I’d put together a team of five from the quiz society, named The Giant’s Quizway. We managed to fluke our way through a Skype audition, and travelled together to Pinewood Studios near Slough. We managed to survive to the final round, where we were playing for £11,000. Our final question was to list the words behind the acronyms “laser” and “scuba”. I thought we were quids in, as we had several science people on the team, but we couldn’t figure out what the “s” in laser stood for. To this day, “light amplification by stimulated emission of radiation” haunts me, doubly so because my physics teacher at secondary school said it might come in useful some day.

Laura and I have now been together three years. We live together, and we’ve worked together as question setters on Mastermind.

I never managed to get on to Only Connect – and now I never will because I’m writing for it, which is the better deal. I think if my dad knew I was writing for quiz shows he’d be very boastful down the pub, about his clever wee son.

I flew my daughter to see her grandmother: Suda Perera, 33, Brighton

After I finished my master’s in 2008, I was unemployed. I’d moved back home, as had my best friend from school. His dad liked to do the pub quiz on a Sunday and they invited me. We kept winning and I fell in love with answering questions. I started watching quizzes and my mum, noticing me giving all the answers the contestants weren’t getting, said, “Why don’t you go on one of them?”

I was 23 when I went on Who Dares Wins. You apply as an individual, and when you enter the studio you’re partnered with a stranger as the cameras start rolling, so you have no time to get to know each other or discuss tactics. When we applied, they asked, “Who would you not want to be paired with?” I’d said, “Anyone who’s overconfident and takes risks”; I was paired with Danielle, who was really confident and took loads of risks. The first thing she said to me was, “I asked not to be put with anyone thin – you’re a stick!”

You’re up against the defending champions. Our first topic was “Robbie Williams’ Top 40 singles” and we had to decide how many we could name. We thought we could easily name 11, but bombed out at seven. Danielle overplayed our hand – but single-handedly carried the next one when we had to name British racing driving champions.

After two rounds, it was a draw. In the last round, the teams had to take turns to name poet laureates. I knew all of them, so it was over pretty quickly. By the time we were knocked out, we’d won £12,500 each, which is not bad for a day’s work. I realised I could pay off my student loan.

The category was African capital cities; I'm a lecturer in African politics and love capital cities

Last year, my life changed again after being on Impossible. You play against 23 other contestants answering multiple-choice questions; there’s the right answer, the wrong answer and the impossible answer. For example, “Which European country has Madrid as its capital?” Spain is the right answer, France is the wrong answer and Japan is impossible, because it’s not a European country.

I wasn’t that quick on the buzzer, but I never gave an impossible answer. After every five questions, the person with the most points goes to the prize board. It must have been divine intervention, because when I got there, the category was African capital cities; I’m a lecturer in African politics and love capital cities. For a moment I panicked: “If I get this wrong, my career is over.” When I gave my answers and the money dropped, it was just the most incredible relief. I won £10,000.

I’d told the show that if I won the money, I was going to take my seven-month-old Tomiri to see both of her grandmothers (one lives in Sri Lanka, the other in South Africa), and we did use some of the money to go to South Africa. But my maternity pay had already run out, and I was taking on zero-hour contracts to make up the rent. When I saw £10,000 I thought, “If I want to take three or six more months to think about going back to work, I can afford that now.” It made a huge difference.

I think most people who go on gameshows need the money for essential things, like house repairs, or supplementing when they’ve just been made redundant. TV shows want to make dreams come true, stories like taking their kid to Disneyland or to swim with dolphins. But the truth is, our dreams are being able to pay our rent.

I got my dream job: Julia Hobbs, 48, Reading

In January 2008, I was made redundant. I’d been working in the City, providing admin support. I felt betrayed; I’d been there seven years and had always been enthusiastic.

Nine days later, I was in the audience of the BBC’s 1 vs 100, one of those gameshows on before the national lottery. Going on quiz shows had always been a hobby, although the chances of winning anything on this one were slim: there were 100 people in the “audience” and one contestant. A multiple-choice question comes up on the screen, and the 100 people have five seconds to select an answer on a handset. The contestant then answers the question, independently. Every person in the 100 who got the question wrong is out; the player gets £1,000 for everyone they knock out – but if they get too many wrong, they are replaced by a member of the 100.

On the final show of the day, the player was knocked out. I was one of 17 people still in the game, so I knew I was in with a chance of being chosen to play. I was on the end of a row. They flashed a light across us and I looked at the monitor, saw my face and thought, “Oh my God, that’s me!” They put me into makeup and then suddenly I was up there, answering questions.

I had a choice of bailing with the money I'd won so far, or going for a £50,000 bonus

I knocked out quite a lot of people with my first question, then managed to knock out the rest over the next couple. You also get the opportunity to dodge three questions, which I did – but if you do that, your prize fund is halved. It was all about survival. When the last question came up, I had a choice of bailing with the money I’d won so far, or going for a £50,000 bonus. If I got it wrong, I’d leave with nothing. The host, Ben Shephard asked the question: “Where would you find the hyoid bone? ” I remember thinking: “I know the answer, I’m going to win this money. I can settle my debts. I can be something else.” I answered “throat” and walked away with £61,000.

After the show, I called my partner and said, “We’re going to Peru!” One of his close friends was getting married there, but we’d told them we couldn’t afford to go. I had job interviews lined up; on the Monday, I cancelled them. I decided to have some me time and think about what I wanted to do. I was still on my redundancy period and didn’t have to go into work, but I went in so I could tell them I’d won the money. It was the most amazing feeling, being able to say, “Guess what happened to me at the weekend?”

Then, in November 2008, a producer, Luke Kelly, called to say he’d been working on a revamped version of Going For Gold on Channel 5, and they had a question setter who was leaving. He remembered I was interested in question setting and asked if I wanted to come for an interview. I wrote him a sample selection of questions and had a meeting with the series producer. The next thing I knew, he was calling me to say I’d got the job.

Since then, I’ve worked on Pointless, Tipping Point, Decimate, The Fanatics, Divided, and I’m at The Chase now as a question producer. I have my dream job. It’s no exaggeration to say that I’m grateful every single day for what I do.

Pit your wits: can you answer the life-changing questions our contestants faced?

Alex McMillan, The Chase
• In 2004, which former South African president retired from public life?
• Which British chef created a meat fruit bowl and chicken curry ice-cream?
• Which 60s children’s TV puppet series featured the aquaphibians?
• What Renault car model was advertised with the “va-va-voom” slogan?
• A Shanghai can be scored in what pub game?

Suda, with Danielle, Who Dares Wins
• Name six of Hollywood’s 50 Most Bankable Actresses (2008).
• Name nine Formula One world champions, 1950-2008.
• Name 11 of Robbie Williams’ Top 40 singles.

Julia Hobbs, 1 vs 100
• Pembroke and Cardigan are varieties of which breed of dog?
a) Corgi
b) Spaniel
c) Terrier

• Harry Potter star Daniel Radcliffe made his West End stage debut in which play?
a) Educating Mr Sloane
b) Equus
c) The Graduate

• Which form of dance is most closely associated with the name Joaquín Cortés?
a) Ballroom
b) Flamenco
c) Salsa




The answers

Alex Nelson Mandela; Heston Blumenthal; Stingray; Clio; darts.
Suda
Actresses: Angelina Jolie; Julia Roberts; Cameron Diaz; Kate Winslet; Nicole Kidman; Scarlett Johansson. F1 champions: Fernando Alonso; Mika Häkkinen; Lewis Hamilton; Damon Hill; Nigel Mansell; Niki Lauda; Kimi Räikkönen; Michael Schumacher; Jacques Villeneuve. Robbie Williams: Freedom; Angels; Millennium; She’s The One; Something Stupid; Kids; Rock DJ; Let Me Entertain You; No Regrets; Radio; Old Before I Die.
Julia a) b) b).

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